


What We Live For

by KittenKong



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: ... by a parent, Adoptive Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), All based on their characters not the real people that's weird folks, BUT NOT BY EITHER PARENT, Baby Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Character Death, Child Abandonment, F/M, Falling In Love, Good Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Implied/Referenced Sex, Injury, Inter-Species Relationship, Piglin Hybrid Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), but like not of a canon character, child birth, depressed character, references to infanticide, very very brief though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 08:15:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30035724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittenKong/pseuds/KittenKong
Summary: It was only days after his birth that she was forced to abandon her son. He had been born pink, screaming, and beautiful; the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen in her life. More beautiful, even, than the gold-encrusted in the walls of the cave she’d given birth to him in.He’d looked so much like his father. It was for this reason that she could not keep him.The problem was this: her son’s father was not from the Nether. He had come to her through one of the swirling, purple portals that led to the Overworld.
Relationships: Original Character/Original Character
Kudos: 15





	What We Live For

**Author's Note:**

> Listen so I have tried to write many things in the past few months and finished none of them. Multiple fandoms, multiple attempts. I finished this one. It's not fantastic. But I finished it. So I'm posting it. I already apologise for its... ah... lack of finesse. I don't even know where this came from.

It was only days after his birth that she was forced to abandon her son. He had been born pink, screaming, and beautiful; the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen in her life. More beautiful, even, than the gold-encrusted in the walls of the cave she’d given birth to him in.

He’d looked so much like his father. It was for this reason that she could not keep him. His too-small snout, his feet with only the barest whisper of hooves, and his thick head hair, rather than the fine, whole body fuzz that was usual for baby Piglins to have. If she had brought this child back to the herd, he would be swiftly thrown to the lakes and she had no doubt that she would follow.

The problem was this: her son’s father was not from the Nether. He had come to her through one of the swirling, purple portals that led to the Overworld. She’d met him at the beginning of her coming-of-age ceremony, when she had been sent off on her own to prove to the elders of the herd that she could survive without the aid of her age-mates.

He had been the first Human she’d ever seen. He had been dressed in roughly made golden armour, with thick, dark hair, and a bright, white smile.

She had been watching as he exited through his portal, and, after noticing her, he had approached with a wary smile, taking several, small bars of gold from the satchel over his shoulder. She had heard of this before from the elders; humans offering gold in exchange for other, less useful things was not an unknown concept. She’d taken the bars and roughly jammed some of the odd, green orbs she’d found in the Blue Forest nearest to her herd’s home into his hands. He’d seemed happy and nodded politely to her as he made his leave, setting off towards the delta with purpose.

She had, against her better judgement, remained near his portal. The area offered good hunting opportunities and had many options for foraging. It was perhaps this that allowed the friendship between them to form. Whenever he would come and go, he’d offer her gold. In return, she’d taken to collecting odds and ends in the hope that she’d find something he liked as much as the green orbs. Whenever she gave him these, he was happy.

Her stomach did summersaults when he was happy.

She was unsure when their friendship grew to be something more. Perhaps it was when he’d attempted to mimic her language (he’d sounded like a piglet just learning to speak), or when she’d pulled him out of the way of a floater’s fireball and they’d huddled together under a flimsy netherrack awning as they waited for it to retreat.

His language skills, even as he improved, left much to be desired, but he was able to introduce himself as ‘Neth-An-U-El’. Her voice was not as malleable as his, however, and he allowed her to call him El.

Soon, after he completed whatever errands he had, he’d stay with no other purpose than to talk to her. He was so much kinder than the males in her herd.

It was at this point she began to allow him to remove the shiny armour when he was with her. He always looked much too warm in her home.

Their relationship evolved further. Curious whispers and language lessons turned into kisses and fingers through each other’s hair. Not long after, it became more still, and they lay, panting, under the hazy, red, sky.

He brought her gold, refusing offers of payment, insisting that they were gifts. He allowed her to braid his short hair, and laughed when she planted wet, snout kisses on his neck.

She did not want to return to her herd, she found herself thinking. Perhaps it would be better to let them think she had died during her ceremony, weak and alone. Now she dreamed of little more than the blue skies of the Overworld from El’s stories that he told as he weaved gold into the long fur on her back. He taught her his own language, and it was during one of his absences that she realised the bracelet he’d gifted her had the words _‘I love you_ ’ etched into the side.

It was not long until she noticed the first signs of pregnancy.

El had been happy. Not only that, he’d been _excited_. He’d kissed her, deep and longing, pressing a warm hand to her still flat stomach.

During her pregnancy, he spent even more time in the Nether than he had before. He began obsessively reading book after book full of words that made her head spin and explained to her that he was researching a way for her to come back with him to the Overworld. Piglins were normally subject to sickness and death were they to spend more than a few minutes there. Although he didn’t expect her to go with him, he wanted to give her the option.

She did not think there was anything that she wanted more.

He brought her new foods and warm, soft fabrics that he’d said were made from ‘wool’. He gave her paper and charcoal and taught her to write her own words. Her hooved fingers made it difficult to hold the writing implements, but she revelled in drawing the landscape around her.

During the sleeping-hours that he stayed with her (within the home for them that he’d carefully carved out in the cliffside), he’d whisper to her stomach as he thought her to be sleeping. Although she could not understand all his words, she picked up on the ones that were most important.

One day he’d come to her with a glittering, gold broach. She didn’t know the animal it was made to mimic, but it had a long neck, large wings, and was encrusted with sparkling gems.

The day she gave birth to their son was the best day of her life. Although El was protective of her, he knew of her capabilities, and she often went on hunting trips to keep her skills sharp. She was lucky then, she supposed, that this was one of the times that she had allowed him to join her.

It had come out of nowhere and had been over so very quick. One second, she’d been tempting a lava-walker closer to the edge of its lake, and the next she was huddled in a cave with El as their son was born. Her other half had been crouched in front of her, panicked and pale, hands outstretched and attempting to calm her-

-and then there was the piercing, healthy wail of a young piglet. And there he was. Their son. Their beautiful son, with his small snout and his fluffy head of hair and his beautiful, healthy voice.

El did not once take his eyes off him, and the gooey smile on his face did not leave as he lay kisses upon his newborn’s cheeks.

She named him in her own tongue, a name that meant _New-Powerful-Strong-and-Dangerous_. It took them hours to figure out how to translate it into something El could comfortably say.

They settled on Technoblade as the closest translation.

The next two days were the best she could possibly ask for. El had helped them both back to their home where they had rested, happy and content. Technoblade was the smallest baby she had ever seen, and El remarked that he reminded him much more of a human baby than a piglet.

And then, only two days after their son’s birth, El pushed her and their child out of the way of stray floater-fire.

He was not so lucky.

She buried him near their home.

And now was her dilemma. Her son – her beautiful, beautiful son – would never know the kindness of the herd. They would never accept his too human features, never see him as more than a diseased freak of nature. She, injured from the floater-fire that had killed El, could possibly support herself, but could not do so with a baby in tow. She would happily give her life for him, but what then? If another Piglin found him after her death – from her herd or not – he’d be thrown to the lakes. If one did not, he’d die swiftly of hunger or exposure.

Wrapping El’s shirt (singed on the edges, but mostly undamaged) around their son, she clipped it shut with the glittering, golden broach that he had been gifted, and set off in search of safety.

She felt herself getting weaker as the days passed. The burn on her leg stung more every day but she could not risk getting close to the squishes for the soothing gels they produced, nor could she search for floaters tears which, when smeared upon wounds, unsinged flesh. Her son was too vulnerable to be left alone for even a minute. Piglin children grew fast and were born strong, but her son was not only Piglin, and humans, for all their strengths, were born weak and defenseless.

She missed El. She missed his smile and his kisses and the love in his eyes as he cradled their son. He would have known what to do.

Technoblade looked so much like him. The shape and colour of his eyes, the narrowness of his fingers, and his sweet, barely hooved feet.

It was only three days after El’s death that she saw the Man. Three days of limping through forests and sleeping, unsound, in caves. The Man was shorter than El ~~was~~ had been, with bright, gold hair. Where El had worn blues and purples, this man was dressed in greens and whites. But the thing that made her pause was not his clothing or his hair, it was the large, feathered wings that sat upon his back.

She had never seen wings before but El had shown her pictures from his books, of beautiful, colourful creatures that he called ‘birds’. He said that, unlike the floaters and flares of her home, birds would flap their ‘wings’ in order to fly.

This man was a hybrid. This man was like her son.

She began following him, careful to keep out of sight, and for the first time in three days, she began to feel hope. She watched as the Man bartered with a herd of Piglins that had settled on the far side of a nearby Red Forest. He laughed as the piglets tugged, curious, at his clothes, and offered them gold nuggets with no expectation of a return. He seemed kind and warm and open.

Skilled too, she noted, as she watched him deftly kill one of the black skeletons that roamed the crumbling fortresses. She followed him as he made his way back to a well-maintained portal that, presumably, led back to his home in the Overworld.

That night, she made her decision, and, pulling out her last sheet of paper, she carefully wrote out a note in clumsy, uneven writing: _His name is Technoblade. He is a hybrid. I cannot care for him. I love him. I ask you to love him too, Winged One._

She fell asleep that sleeping-hour in an alcove near the Man’s portal holding her son, listening to his coos, and praying that she was making the right choice.

She awoke to the familiar sound of a portal ebbing and groaning as somebody passed through, and, for a moment, she was back at the cliffside _(El pressing kisses to her face, running fingers through her fur, cradling her stomach in his hands)_ before she was thrown back to reality. Peaking from her hiding spot, she watched as the Man stepped down from the platform and begun his journey away.

Clutching her son to her chest, she shimmied down from her alcove and stepped closer to the portal. For something so unnatural – a _“Rip between worlds”_ , El had called it – it was hauntingly beautiful. For all that she had read from the books El had brought her, she would never experience the Overworld and its wonders. She’d never see the ocean that El had promised he’d bring her to, or finally, _finally_ see a bird.

She’d never meet El’s family. Although that was perhaps for the best. He had mentioned a sister, a father, a mother. He’d told her that he lived far from them, but that they often wrote letters and that, one day, he hoped that they could meet her and their son. She wondered if they’d ever find out what happened to him. If they’d travel to his home and search for any sign of him and come back empty-handed. If they’d find his portal, come through, and find their home in the cliff. Would they figure out what happened? Would they notice the chest he’d stacked full of little clothes? Would they find his grave, marked by her clumsy words and his son’s handprint dipped in ink?

She hoped they did. He didn’t deserve to be buried in weak and brittle stones, bundled in woollen blankets. He deserved to be _adored_.

She stared down at the sleeping babe and pulled the shirt he was wrapped in tight, clipping it shut. Then there was one final kiss to his forehead before tucking him (and her note) against the warm frame of the portal, in a place that one could not possibly miss. She turned around and limped back to the alcove to watch until the Man returned.

She did not wait long for the sound of wingbeats to fill the cave. She watched as the Man landed on the outcropping on which his portal lay, bags full of material. He hummed as he approached, pulling off the pieces of golden armour that he’d strapped to his calves. She swiftly ducked her face behind the netherrack wall.

Only a moment later the humming stopped, followed by silence and then the sound of swift footsteps. There was a confused noise and then rustling fabric and paper being unfolded. The Man called out a confused greeting.

He was probably looking for her. It killed her that she could not answer. He would be _safe_ in the Overworld. It would be better for him to not know her.

After a few moments the calling was interrupted by a loud cry and then gentle shushing.

The portal made a low groaning noise and, risking one last look, she peeked around the wall of her alcove.

The Man held her son in his arms, gazing down at him in a way that she could only describe as determined.

“It’ll be alright, mate…” she heard him say, “I’ve got ya. You’ll be okay.”

And then they were gone.

And she was alone with her thoughts.

Returning to the herd was hard. She had very little time to recover from her ordeals, and her burns and broken bones had barely healed by the time that she was meant to return.

Her age-mates all told stories of bravery and valour. One had a brand-new shiny scar crossing his face cheek to cheek that was appropriately cooed over. Her own stories were carefully constructed, sanitised to remove any trace of El or Technobalde. She presented the golden bracelet El gave her, told them she’d fought a human for it, claiming it as a battle trophy.

She didn’t feel close with them anymore. She felt like a stranger in her own body. Her arms felt empty without her son, and her heart was heavy without El.

Time passed and her age-mates started to pair off with each other. Several of the males in her herd expressed interest in her which she swiftly rebuffed to the shock and confusion of most of the herd. These were warriors. Strong, brave, skilled. How could she refuse such an offer? Ungrateful, they whispered behind her back.

Her son would be two Overworld-Years old, now. The books on human babies that El had given her had said that he be speaking and running. That he’d be making connections about the world around him and beginning to act independently from his parent ~~s~~. He’d be starting to talk in sentences and asking questions about the world.

She wondered what he sounded like now.

She hoped the blue Overworld sky was as beautiful as it sounded.

Sometimes, when she would not be missed, she travelled back to the cliffside and El’s untouched grave. She could not find anything like the beautiful flowers that he had sometimes brought her, so she fashioned crude bouquets of fungus and vines to leave him.

Once, in a flurry of regret and despair, she’d gone back to the Man’s portal in the hope to catch a _glimpse-_

She did not see him.

Time passed further, and her age-mates began to have children. They were nothing like Technoblade – with their too-big snouts, their stocky limbs, their fuzzy skin – and it was perhaps for this reason that she was able to play with them without breaking her façade.

The elders of the herd badgered her to have children. Babies died often, even with as hardy as Piglins were built to be, and the more babies they had, the better the chance of the herd’s survival.

She didn’t care about the herd’s survival.

Her family was already gone.

When her age-mates’s children were of the age to complete their own coming-of-age ceremonies, she wandered far from their usual hunting grounds, tasked to find a suitable clearing for it to begin. She was crossing from a Blue Forest back into the Wastes when she heard it. The sound of wings.

And then the Man was there, with his golden hair and his green and white clothes. He was holding somebody in his arms, who he deposited on the ground as he begun to dig around in his bag. The person who had been in the Man’s arms turned around, muttering something to the Man and-

 _-oh._ Her son. Her beautiful baby boy.

He was tall – taller than El or herself – with pink hair that had been carefully braided, sitting neatly to the side. His face was so very human, ignoring his snout and ears, the latter of which were pierced with thin rings of gold. His eyebrows were shaped just as El’s were and his eyes were exactly the same shade of amber. His skin, while paler than her own, was pinker than the man beside him. Long, gleaming tusks poked past his lower lip. He was dressed in fabrics she’d never seen before: a shirt that looked thin and airy, dark pants, and thick, leather boots. On his head glinted a golden crown and upon his shoulders was a blood red cape that was pinned with a familiar, golden broach.

When El had been alive, he had read to her. Tales of magic and kingdoms and battles. Her son looked just like the few drawings within those books. A person of power – a King.

They regarded her with curiosity but not recognition, and the Man approached her with some gold in hope of trade.

Her son stood to the back, arms crossed, as she numbly handed over a number of the green orbs – Ender Pearls, she now knew them to be called. Nowadays, she made sure to collect them whenever she tracked through the Blue Forests. She didn’t care much for the feeling of teleportation herself, but they reminded her of El and it was easily considered a quirk by her herd, rather than something suspicious.

The Man and her son chittered excitedly to each other and she, unpractised for so many years in the Human language, barely caught the victorious nature of the words.

And then, with a dip of their heads, her son was back in the Man’s arms, they were gone, and she was yet again alone.

She had not felt so light in a very long time.

**Author's Note:**

> Well I hope you enjoyed it somewhat? 
> 
> **Changed names include:**
> 
> Ghast = Floater
> 
> Strider = Lava Walker
> 
> Blaze = Flare
> 
> I actually named his mother but it was never said in the story: It was Ebert. It means _'Brave Boar, Army-Bright Bright Army, Armed and Shining, Shiny'_ according to google. Technically a male name but I figured piglins wouldn't care. I took it out because it sounded weird (and also too human). But that was the name I had mind. 
> 
> ... for those curious, I certainly hope that whoever Phil's parents were, one of them didn't have relations with a bird. I'm blaming magic on that one, gents.
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> \- KK


End file.
